Now, though, it was time to pay a professional call on the CWS base a thousand kilometers to the northeast. The Star Mountain had made several photographic passes over the site in the past hours, carefully noting every surface hab, storage shed, and facility. It was clear that some American troops, at least, had made it to the surface before the destruction of their transport. Two shuttles were parked on the landing field where none had been present before, and numerous groups of space-suited personnel could be seen working in the shallow crater that held the base. There were also lots of fresh tracks crisscrossing the ice of the crater floor and rim, evidence that many more than the expected complement of twenty-five scientists were now present.
No matter. Two orbit-to-ground shuttles meant eighty to a hundred men on the surface, and no more. With their ship and most of their supplies destroyed, they would be short on everything, including morale. A show of force might be all that was necessary to win the Americans’ capitulation.
Colonel Yang Zhenyang, in a white space suit with a bright red helmet, stood at his side, watching the marching column single-filing up the cargo ramp and into the yellow-lit belly of the 1,200-ton lander looming overhead. The craft, which had looked so delicate in space alongside the long complexity of the Star Mountain, seemed ponderously enormous at this distance, standing beneath the overhanging bulge of its equator.
“I doubt that you will have much difficulty,” Xiang told his subordinate, second-in-command of the People’s Strike Force, and his Chief of Staff. “The enemy will still be in shock at finding himself marooned on this ice ball. Supplies and ammunition may be short. And they have neither ship assets nor satellites in orbit. We have complete space superiority. Once you have demonstrated that superiority, you will give them the opportunity to surrender.”
“Yes, General.”
“Nevertheless, I want no heroics, no chances taken, no underestimation of the enemy’s capabilities.” He looked up at Jiang Lie Si and gestured with a gloved hand. “She looks invincible, but a single SAM fired from a man-portable launcher could puncture her hull and wreck her. While we will hold enough Descending Thunders in reserve to assure our own survival, I will be most displeased at the loss of even one.”
“The plan has been carefully worked out, General,” Yang replied. The words were soft, but it was almost a rebuke. A politely respectful one, of course. “We will need to take direct action to get their attention, as it were. But I do not intend to risk my command needlessly!”
“Good. And again: You must land outside the objective crater. We’re not sure of the ice thickness inside, but the hole they’ve cut through the ice to reach the Europan ocean proves it is unusually thin there. The plasma jets from a Descending Thunder could easily melt through deeply enough that the ice gives way when it accepts the lander’s weight. Use care!”
“Yes, sir. Our landing sites have been carefully surveyed from orbit.”
He realized he was beginning to sound like a mother—a particularly naggy and unpleasant mother at that. “Stay in close contact with us here, and with the Star Mountain,” he added, a final admonishment. “We can have another four landers at your position within minutes, should you need reinforcements.”
“As you say, General, I doubt that we will need them.”
“Agreed. But your men will be the scouts who lead the way, who first test the enemy’s mettle. This is a probe of the enemy’s weaknesses and strengths, not a contest of honor or of courage. If you encounter unexpectedly stiff resistance, you must break off at once. I rely on your judgment as to whether to break off or call in reinforcements.”
“Yes, General.”
The last of the troops on the strike team had boarded. It was time.
“Good luck!”
“Thank you, General! I expect to deliver the enemy base to you intact, the next time we speak!” Yang saluted smartly, his gloved hand touching the red helmet above the visor. Xiang returned the salute, and Colonel Yang turned and trotted up the ramp. Xiang moved away as the ground crew began raising the ramp and preparing the lander for boost.
Europa was a nightmarish place, but they were fortunate in one respect, at least. Water ice, with only a few simple contaminants like ammonia, sulfur, and hydrogen peroxide, was abundant and easily carved out of the surface, melted, and stored in the spherical landers’ reaction mass tanks, a never-ending source of fuel. He took his place beside the low, tracked form of a teleoperated zidong tanke on the perimeter, and turned to watch the launch. A command center had been set up on the bridge of Descending Thunder No. 3, and Captain Peng and Lieutenant Mu were handling the launch sequence from there. His hand was not needed, though he opened his suit radio to the command frequency, and listened to the soothing flow of checklist confirmations and countdown.